Lay Siege
by winterminch
Summary: Castiel, the Warrior & Shield of God laid siege to the edge; to the the gates of Hell, to retrieve the most Righteous Man before he could break the first of the 66 Seals keeping Big Brother Lucifer trapped in the Cage. Castiel-Centric.


_**C**__ASSIEL _ was born from the good sides of precious starlight, from the outburst shine of precious metals, the tender silks of precious time, and the jagged edge blades of precious granite. His wings were sewn on his back by the hands of fate, golden and sable strings, trying and knotting together newly formed, yet rough skins to ebony feathers and chipped bone. Bonded together, made whole, he was filled with celestial grace, a force by no other. By His breath on Cassiel's forming faces, he was able to produce words from crackled lips and maws-enochian, and every language to come. He began existence singing a note beyond the ears of those closest by. By His light, he saw through the eyes of animal, creature and _angel. _

Swiftly he began his origin. He began to grow, to _feel_. By His divine touch on the chest of the angel's true form, staining the bone and sharp glass within with wards, Cassiel began thinking for himself. It was terrifying, as it was liberating. His spine cracks into place, extending purpose throughout his soul like an arrow into the cosmos. The process takes years beyond measure, but when it has ceased, every vertebra covered in thick layers of hardening slimes, those sculpted before him cheer in delight as another soldier enter ranks. Archangels the mighty and few stand beyond the younglings and whisper into the darkness of blue hues around his birth site, blessing Cassiel in every way possible. He is theirs-_precious_, like the materials he was carved from. They decide quietly: who shall be mentor?

Finally, it is Gabriel whom takes Cassiel's arm and leads him towards the Path, initiating instruction. Their first rule: he must follow order-always order. Though, Gabriel says it with a twinge of doubtfulness.

Cassiel is still _singing_.

Centuries pass in what feels like months. He ages through the stars like the rest of the lot; after all, he is no more special than his sister or brother-not yet, at least. In fact, his wings have not developed by the time the majority had, and he is stuck in oblivion as they learn to break free from their limitations. They shatter their walls and ceilings, becoming monument sizes. They become the stars and begin granting prayer, and he is rock, solid, waiting for his weathering and formation. Even then, the angel might have felt like a true outcast-something, that will stick with him for the next three point nine billion years.

He sits beyond himself, watching others soar with glitter in his eyes, chained to his bareness. It is here he rapidly recognizes family. Cassiel grows solid bonds to those whom aid him in his lameness, tethers to them tight as steel. His mentor is brash and sends him on journeys he is not yet ready for, not without use of his wings. These are adventures he is unable to succeed at. Cassiel's trust for Gabriel is slim, but he is still _family_, so he does not refute such tests even if they end without success. Belshazzar, who howls and screams that he wishes to take on a different guise, who writes into stone that he desires to change his namesake beyond a lowly King of the _future-_this brother never ceases to impress. It is when Belshazzar becomes Balthazar does Cassiel decide to adapt a new name beyond lore as well.

He has chosen _Castiel_, the Angel of Thursday, Shield of God and Warrior of the Lord.

When finally his unlit feathers glisten, wet with new birth, and stretch for miles, where the defined muscle is put to use, he goes to leap away from his invisible fasten. He is elated, but first, he takes a breath of a moment to remember the hands that held, fingers woven, the claws that instructed with ferocity, and the fleecy pressure of larger, more beautiful wings that protect him from the forces of darkness. He remembers Gabriel encasing him in a tight embrace during his first witness of battle, yes, even at the dawn of the universes there was quarrel. Castiel had sobbed at the brutality, anguished, hot teal tears, horrified by such slaughter. The warmth of his older brother, hugging him tight and skyrocketing away from the massacre, was soon ripped away by the force of a blast, knocking them back.

But that was _past_. It was Castiel's turn to fly now, to prove his value to Him. There is no more time for him to ponder. He pushes his feet-

It has been an eon or two. He can't be entirely sure about exactness, for time has pranced away like a dance of the constellations. Things move far too fast for Castiel to appreciate in this life, as he wishes to only sit and watch the allure of his Father's creation birth, live, thrive, fight and die. Every organism, every molecule, he would stand and speculate. He has an impulse to master every detail of the siblings around him, in and out, to the core of their being, to care and supervise for them, even if they do not wish for this providence. They tell him to follow orders, to not get caught up in feelings, not when there is a war to be waged. These careful, soft, determined ties, and how Castiel spends every moment speaking to Him, regardless of reply-it all is tallied. His intense loyalty to the Lord is guarded, trusted, _understood._The Higher Ups of the Host of Heaven considers him quite worthy of achieving the title of Seraph in his future, perhaps, even, able to lead a powerful Garrison of the Lord.

Years are minutes in his eyes. There is no pause, no slow down, and without warning he is on that shoreline of Early Earth, watching the most spectacular sight. It is far past what his imagination could have breached. A baby gray fish has heaved itself up on the shell and stone crusted, dirt encased _beach_, riddled with scalding volcanic sulfur and ash. The fish breathes, and then it begins to die. But it is the evolution principle, all the same, and in the next week a sibling follows, commencing the siege towards land. It is as beautiful as it is worrisome. When a third comes ashore, flopping but _alive _and _surviving_, Michael is there beside Castiel to forsee the show, calming the fretting angel, warning him not to show a moment of fright.

He teaches the fledgling quietly all he needs to know. And then he crouches next to the little thing, all eyes on the fish, and says: ❝ Don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish. ❞

Castiel's mouths stay sewn together on his own accord, but he does nod his heads. He has become one to justly observe from afar.

It is said that the angel was present for thousands of great moments in time. More so, as he grew older, and therefore ventured to fill himself to the brink with intent and knowledge. There was ferocious Fall of Lucifer; the deception in the Garden of Eden; the construction and decommission of Tower of Babel; there was Cain and Abel. Thousands turned to millions of circumstances of distinction. Castiel brandished a steel bow molded from the floors of the Earth, wooden arrows from Oak, and a blessed sword forged on the edge of Hell for the clashes he aligned with. Jericho, David, Goliath. Pompeii. The Trojan War. He, along with siblings whom attacked with no mercy, were simple beacons of hope in a sea of desolation. They took on temporary vessels to aid in the campaign, as they would soon try to mirror in the magic of Heaven's Illusions, as it was their Father's one wish.

One, that Lucifer had not stood to obey.

Centuries came like moments. Castiel's faith in Him stayed more concrete than the irons of Earth, unlike angels who began to question: where is our God Almighty, the Maker of Heaven and Earth? It gave him timely purpose; it gave him holy brawn. He had a cause, and oh, how he fought for it. His rank expanded in bursts, until a final decapitation of Eligos at his hand, one of the Great Dukes of Hell, ruler of sixty Legions of Demons, and the return of the angel unscathed, forced him to the top of the divine pyramid. He was one of two lieutenants in Uriel's Garrison.

Their next immense mission would come in due time: 30 Human years later, a blink of an eye, to an angel who had walked before the Dawn, when a deal with a Demon dragged Dean Winchester's soul to the fire blown Pits of **_PERDITION_**.


End file.
